


Slip Stitch

by PorkChop



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Anal Fingering, Arguing, Blow Jobs, Frottage, M/M, Sexual Tension, artwork, public sex act, rickcest - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-23 11:35:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16158188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorkChop/pseuds/PorkChop
Summary: This is what happened between myTailor Rick OCand the Hairstylist Rick (from the president Morty episode) during my RickCon'18 fic. This was hinted at at the end of that fic, which you can readhere. This story is also illustrated!





	Slip Stitch

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [RickCon'18: Tailor Rick's Companion](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14863256) by [PorkChop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorkChop/pseuds/PorkChop). 



“Well, that went better than I expected. When I walked out there and saw all those bloody lab coats I thought I was going to get heckled off stage.” Tailor Rick chuckled dryly as he walked back into the dressing room after being on stage for the last hour. He'd been hosting a seminar, along with a number of his other fashion-oriented alternate selves, about style tips for the average Rick. It was a relatively stripped back talk, he'd had to speak through gritted teeth when he'd talked about designer lab coats; if it was up to him, all lab coats would be burnt to ashes, but he knew he had to compromise for these Ricks.

“Yeah, but I-I-I wouldn't have outright insulted that Rick in the turtleneck. They might not be on fashion right now, b-but he didn't look _that_ bad. Perhaps you could've softened your words a bit?” The second Rick, who had been sharing the dressing space all day, scolded. He'd been appointed as the stylist for the charity fashion auction, but had volunteered to join the seminar as a last minute guest. Most of his knowledge was in hairstyling, and despite grumbling about it for a while, tailor Rick had to admit the panel could use his knowledge.

“Well, do you disagree? Do you not think he- he looked like he had no neck?” 

“Ah, but that's not what you said. Y-you told him his head looked like the tip of a short, yet girthy penis.” Stylist reiterated, cocking a brow. Tailor Rick walked over to the mini bar by the dressing table and reached for the bottle of bourbon, unscrewing the cap before turning to his counterpart. 

“I repeat, do you disagree?” He questioned. The stylist kept his mouth closed. “I stand by it. He did look like the head of a chode, it was just shoulders and head, shaft and bellend. Where was his neck? Honesty is always the best policy.”

“He's the guy who bid on that God-awful green suit of yours at the auction. You didn't think his fashion sense was s-so bad then, did you?” 

“God-awful?” The tailor seethed, spinning around, a glass in one hand and the bottle of bourbon in the other. He poured himself a healthy amount before slamming the bottle back down behind him. “How dare you insult my brand like that. Do you- you have eyes in your skull, don't you? I suppose you're jealous, hmm? Jealous you couldn't afford something like that, so you have to bash it to make yourself feel better.”

“Oh, I could afford it. The president pays me a generous salary, not that th-that has anything to do with you. I simply wouldn't be seen dead in that much forest green. That kind of colour should only be used in an accent piece.” President Morty's stylist quipped, reaching a hand up to his hair to smooth out the eye-catching style he was wearing; all swept upwards with the tips bleached blond. 

Tailor Rick's eye twitched, and for a split second, Stylist felt nervous. He quickly pushed the feeling away, nervous? Why should he feel nervous? That Rick was no better than him, he shouldn't worry about pleasing him, or being sensitive to his feelings. The tailor was a pompous asshole who'd been rubbing him up the wrong way all day. And people have the cheek to call _him_ pompous? 

“Says who? The guy dressed head to toe in fuchsia?” Tailor scoffed, taking a large swig of his drink. 

“Don't try to tell me this is a fashion faux pas, you auctioned off a three piece in this exact colour. If this is bad, then you're a bad designer, bodkin.” Stylist stalled at the words coming out of his own mouth. Bodkin? What the hell, where had that come from? He wasn't even sure how that word had made it into his vocabulary, let alone slipped out now of all times, as an insult, no less. Tailor seemed just as taken aback, if not just plain confused. 

“Bodkin?” Tailor mumbled in uncertainty, then shook his head dismissively. “The difference is, I designed that ensemble to be striking, to be worn under very specific circumstances. It's not every day attire, you just look like a little girl running around in her garish pink dress up clothes. That should not be y-y-your go-to look. You'd be much better suited to a powder blue, perhaps even a pale mint green.” 

Now he was giving him fashion advice? The worst part was, Stylist found himself considering the advice seriously, taking a tentative glance down at his own hot pink jacket. 

“Hmm, no, perhaps the pink is fine. It would just look better if this was shorter.” Tailor mused, strolling across the room towards the other man, reaching behind him to lift up the back of the jacket, holding it so it sat higher on his hips. He didn't notice the immediate tension in his counterpart’s body, nor the colour in his cheeks that could rival the jacket for vibrancy. 

The stylist wondered at what point this turned from petty insults and bickering to genuine advice and contemplation over his own choice in attire. He didn't have it in him to question it out loud, he wasn't opposed to the sudden closeness of the other Rick. He smelled good; like expensive cologne. 

“I could take it up for you, you know? This cut would- it'd look more flattering. Right now the shape of it a-and all this pink. It's very heavy, it brings your shoulders down and makes your posture appear lazy, even though up close I can tell that it's not.” Tailor continued, moving around to the back of his latest project, dropping the fabric of the jacket and instead sweeping a hand up the tall, gently curved line of his spine. The Stylist stayed impossibly still under the contact, not entirely sure what to say or do. 

Tailor eventually dropped his hand from his back and strolled away. When he turned to look, Stylist saw that he was going for a large leather carry case that when popped open, was revealed to contain a bunch of sewing equipment. 

“Wait, y-y-you’re serious? You want to alter this, right now?” He questioned, a frown creasing his forehead. Tailor stopped what he was doing and looked up, shifting his glass of bourbon from one hand to the other. 

“Yes.” He said flatly, his expression bored. 

“No! You aren't chopping bits off of this, this cost a lot of money.” Stylist argued. He gained an eye roll and a heavy sigh for his refusal. “I'll just buy a different jacket, if you're so concerned about the clothes on m-m-my back.” 

“I'm not concerned at all. Do you think I care all that much?”

“Well you're the one offering to alter it, you obviously care a little.” He quirked a brow. 

“Quite frankly, you could walk around in a bin bag, or nothing at all, it wouldn't affect me in the slightest. I was simply offering my expertise, since you helped out at the seminar. You scratched my back, so I thought I'd scratch yours.” Tailor straightened up, letting his eyes roll up and down the form of the other man as he took another sip of his drink. His eyelids were low and his expression indifferent, but there was a sort of flame flickering in his eyes that couldn't be ignored. 

“Yeah?” Stylist snarked, though he didn't know how to continue from there. He suddenly felt tongue-tied, and he wasn't entirely sure why. Even more puzzling, his pants were beginning to feel tight, with this man's eyes on him. This angered him. “I don't need your _help_. I definitely don't need your condescending fashion advice, I'll wear whatever the hell I want.”

“Well then, be my guest. Fuck me for trying to be nice for once.” The tailor's eyes rolled so hard it was a surprise they didn't disappear into the back of his head. “You can look as frumpy as you like, just don't do it in front of me.” He waved his hand like he was swatting a fly as he kicked his sewing box away, it slammed into a nearby clothing rack, making all the empty coat hangers clatter together. 

“Fuck off.” Stylist spat, marching forwards to grab his box of cigarettes from the coffee table beside the other Rick. He didn't miss the other man's eyes dropping to his crotch as he walked, and a flush of embarrassment made his palms sweaty when he realised he was very obviously sporting a semi. The white pants he was wearing practically enhanced it, screaming _look at me!_

Why the fuck was he getting hard at a time like this? The man was infuriating, thinking he was so far above everyone else. The truth is, he was just a Rick, just like the rest of them. He wasn't fucking special. He had no business talking to Stylist like an idiot, or meddling in his decisions and messing with his head. He certainly had no business grabbing the wrist Stylist was reaching for his cigarettes with, and pulling him upright to get a look into his eyes. 

Instinctively, Stylist jerked out of the grip and gave the other man a shove. Tailor dropped his glass, it shattered on the ground, the cheap thin carpet now soaking up his bourbon doing nothing to soften the blow. 

“Hey! That was good fucking bourbon!” Tailor growled, latching his hand back onto that same wrist and dragging the stylist close to him, snarling in his face. “I've about had enough of your attitude, you're a little big for your boots for a lowly fucking hairdresser.”

“I'm the president's stylist, you fucker!” Came the retort, spit flying with anger. 

“So you keep saying. He's just a fucking Morty. Y-you think anyone's impressed because you help a fucking Morty comb his hair in the morning? If you ask me, I think it's just weird. Th-this is exactly why I refused to live at the citadel, bunch of deluded bloody freaks, you are.” Tailor seethed, leaning in close, physically looking down his nose at the other Rick. 

He didn't stay there long, he was shoved – harder than the first time – and fell backwards over his sewing box. He landed in a heap among coathangers, having knocked down the clothing rack behind him. It stunned him for a while, it took him a moment to work out what had happened, but when he regained his bearings he was on his feet, brushing himself off as if nothing had happened. 

Stylist watched him as he so meticulously plucked a piece of lint off of his suit jacket, and brushed down his pants. He was sure the guy was gonna bite back, lunge at him, take him down, and in all honesty Stylist was in the mood for a fight. He was both shocked and disappointed that it seemed the tailor was not interested. The other man cleared his throat and raised his head to meet stylist Rick's eyes. 

“Wow, I didn't take you for a brawler. You're even less refined than I thought you were, you certainly fooled me. It-it seems you're nothing but another sewer-rat of a Rick, shame.” He sighed wistfully, and it was Stylist's instinct to swing for him. Though he resisted, since it would only prove his point.

“I'm going out for a cigarette.” He muttered instead, reaching for his cigarettes a second time. 

“Really? With that hard-on in your trousers? Whatever will people think?” Tailor mused lightly, his voice like a breeze, completely casual and inoffensive despite his words. It made the hairs on the back of stylist Rick's neck stand up, and he froze, bent over with his eyes on the box of cigarettes. “I can't say I'm shocked. I knew from the moment you met me that you wanted me, it's an instinct I have. Y-you may call me arrogant, I'd see it as me being in tune with others, personally.”

“I don't have a boner. My dick’s just that big.” The Stylist excused, his fingers closing around the box as he raised back up. “Don't flatter yourself, and don't be staring at my junk. An-and you call me the weirdo.” He added with a tut.

“I’m not an idiot, I know what a boner looks like.” Tailor replied, his eyes fixed on the bulge between the other man's legs. To his embarrassment, Stylist could feel it growing. There was no hiding that. “You need help with that?” 

The question hit Stylist in the gut like a punch, his cock twitching in response, almost like it was answering the question for him. Who the hell gave this guy the right to make him feel this way? Stylist Rick had fucked around with alternative versions of himself before, sure, but he at least got along with them out of the bedroom too. This guy had been irritating him all day. 

Still, he couldn't deny the building sexual tension between the two, even out on stage, every time Tailor butted in while he was talking, or made a passing comment about him and his style choices, to make an example of him. It had annoyed him immensely, but he could not ignore this irritating kind of admiration he had that had been building. The man had confidence, he had a certain kind of charm, he had this effect where everyone shut up and listened to him whether they agreed with him or not. He was a big presence, one that would not be ignored. 

“Are you really asking that? W-what, are you gonna jack me off or something? That what you have in mind?” Stylist questioned irritably, narrowing his eyes. 

“You'd like that, hm?” Tailor purred, closing the gap between them, tracing his fingertips from his chest, up to his shoulder and around his neck. “I was thinking something more mutual.” 

“Won't your girlfriend have an- an issue with that?” Stylist continued to stare into the other man's eyes, searching them for a hint of insincerity. The last thing he wanted was to be made a joke of by _this_ guy. 

“Girlfriend?” Tailor questioned. “You mean my model? She's not my girlfriend. I don't- she isn't my type.” He explained, a certain edge to his voice that told the stylist all he needed to know. Tailor looked him over now that he was closer, his fingers brushed upwards to the back of his head, feeling the soft short hair of his partially shaved head. “You, however…” He purred very quietly, the corner of his mouth turning up just slightly. Stylist licked his lips.

Tailor moved forward in a rush, pressing his lips firmly to the stylist’s for an open mouthed kiss. In an instant all of the other Rick's tension dissolved, his shoulders dropped softly and his arms encircled him, fingers tightening in the soft, silky fabric of his one of a kind suit. Stylist had needed this, and he hadn't realised just how much until it was happening. He moaned shamelessly, parting his lips and letting the tongue probing at his bottom lip enter his mouth, as he did he felt a hand snake down his side, and then around to his front. Tailor palmed his now fully hard cock, as his own steadily grew in his perfectly pressed pants, he arched his hips forwards into the other Rick's thigh. 

Stylist felt himself being pulled and carefully spun around, then he could do nothing but trust as he was pushed. It was disorienting for a moment, the kiss having made him lose all sense of direction, when his butt hit the sofa with the bounce. Tailor climbed up on top of him, breaking the kiss to look down at him as he slid his suit jacket off and loosened his tie. He dropped his jacket on the coffee table behind him, not quite carelessly – he was never careless with his clothing – but distractedly. He joined their lips again as he pushed his lips forward, putting their straining cocks flush together; he rutted forward slowly, rhythmically, pulling soft sighs from both of them. 

“What if- is that chick coming back?” Stylist pulled back, questioning the tailor with just a hint of resistance in his eyes. 

“Sh-she's probably off somewhere getting fucked by some other Rick, she always did drool over me so I suspect she's found a suitable replacement. She's already late, don't worry about it.” He answered dismissively. Once again, Stylist was taken aback by his confidence – or his arrogance, he hadn't decided which. He didn't particularly care which, his brain had registered the _don't worry about it_ and accepted it without question; he moved in for another kiss. 

As their tongues wrestled in their mouths, Tailor worked on undressing his counterpart, starting with that jacket he'd complained so much about. He pushed it back and off of his shoulders, leaving it to bunch up between the other Rick's back and the sofa. Stylist wasn't so concerned about creases in his attire, so he left it there. He was shirtless underneath, and Tailor's hands eagerly swept over the newly exposed skin, seeking out his nipples only to find that they were pierced. He pulled back and looked at them, raising a brow. 

“How… interesting.” He mentioned, having never been one for piercings himself; especially not those of this kind. He couldn't help but feel they were rather… trashy, but it didn't stop his cock from twitching in his pants at the sight of them now. It surprised him, and he gently rolled the adorned buds under his fingertips, unsure how much pressure to use, whether they hurt, or if he should leave them alone altogether. 

“You don't have to tr-treat them so carefully.” Stylist told him, obviously reading the expression on his face. “As long as you aren't _too_ rough, I like them played with.” He added, looking up at the other man with dark, heavily aroused eyes that sent another jolt to the tailor's cock. 

At this, Tailor ducked is head, smattering kisses down his front towards his nipples; he took one into his mouth, exploring the sensation of the jewellery against his tongue, the slight metallic taste it provided. He circled his tongue around the bud, flicking the bar with every circuit; Stylist groaned softly, bringing his hand to the back of Tailor's neck to hold him there. He switched to the other nipple, providing the same attention before sucking on it, peering up with his eyes to get a look at Stylist's reaction. He was biting his lip, panting quickly through his nose. Tailor couldn't help but note that he'd never had that same reaction to having his nipples touched before, they simply weren't that sensitive; he wondered if having them pierced changed that at all. 

He scooted backwards a little on the other man's thighs so that he could bring his hand down to palm his cock. He squeezed gently, soon finding the outline of his shaft and stroking it through the white fabric; Stylist groaned helplessly, attempting to buck up into the touch, failing due to being pinned by Tailor's weight. Tailor released the nipple between his lips and looked up. 

“You're a lucky man, Rick. After all that lip you gave me, I-I-I really shouldn't be doing this… but I like sucking cock, so,” Tailor informed him, sliding further back until he dropped completely to the floor on his knees. Stylist's eyes widened and he blinked down at him, unable to comprehend his fortune as a pair of lithe hands started unbuttoning his pants and shuffled them down his thighs. “Mmm, very nice. I've been with a lot of Ricks, some take better care of themselves than others. You- you're one of the good ones, I see.” 

He was obviously referring to the state of his pubic hair; Stylist liked to be well groomed at all times. Up top, he was trimmed and neatened, and everything from his balls down was waxed clean. Tailor licked his lips and gripped the cock in front of him tightly, slowly stroking, his other hand working to pull the loafers off Stylist's feet one by one; after that, Stylist raised up for a second to help him get his pants off completely. He was stark naked, and despite the fact that Tailor was on his knees in front of him, he still felt like the vulnerable one. 

“Tak-take your shirt off.” He murmured, and Tailor paused, almost as if he was surprised to be asked of such a thing. He did what he was told though; loosening his tie completely and slipping it free from his collar, he placed it with his jacket on the table behind him. He unbuttoned his shirt all the way down – none of this pulling it over the head malarkey for him – and slipped it off his shoulders, neatly draping it with the rest of his clothes. Stylist half expected him to properly fold it up, or even get the damn iron out, but he didn't comment on it even though he half wanted to tell him to hurry the fuck up before his dick went soft. 

With the request out of the way, Tailor returned to the task at hand, wrapping his fist around the base of Stylist's cock before leaning forwards and dragging his tongue up the underside. Stylist hissed through his teeth as the mouth on his cock opened up, taking in the head and sucking on it rhythmically. He didn't know what to do with himself, his head rolled back, feeling the tight ring of those lips slide down, he felt the back of Tailor's throat engulf the end of his length, squeezing as he swallowed around him. 

“Arghhh, fuck.” He practically wheezed, his hand flying down to Tailor's hair, who made a sound of annoyance and batted the offending appendage away. He didn't stop blowing him though, taking long sweeping bobs of his head, engulfing him from base to tip, up and down. He was good. Stylist settled for holding onto his shoulder, seeing as messing with his hair was apparently off the table. 

He had his rhythm down, Stylist would give him that, it was as if he knew when to up the ante and when to back off, constantly bringing Stylist to a point where he thought he was going to cum, only to back down again and focus his attentions elsewhere a little more subtly. Whether it be pressing his lips to the vein running up the underside of his cock, or sucking one of his hairless balls into his mouth, Tailor knew what he needed before he even knew he needed it. Ricks were often good at pleasing other Ricks, that was only natural, but this one? He had a fucking gift. 

“Enjoying yourself?” Tailor questioned, lifting his mouth off and replacing it with his hand, giving him slow but tight strokes. 

“Oh fuck, y-yes. Ke-keep going.” Stylist whined, lifting his hips to rock into the fist around his cock. Tailor seemed amused by this, his mouth twisting almost patronisingly in a way that forced him to settle down.

“Now this seems a little unfair, don't you think? You having all the fun.” He questioned, bracing his hands on Stylist's knees to push himself up. His cock was jutting out from his unbuttoned pants, dripping precum, and Stylist realised he must've been touching himself as he went down on him. His cock gave a visible twitch at this, and it didn't go unnoticed as Tailor's eyes dropped down to it. “See something you like?” he chuckled, removing his shoes and sliding them neatly aside with his foot before pulling his pants down, he added them to the growing pile on the coffee table along with his underwear.

“What do you want to do? Ride me?” Stylist asked, ignoring the question to which the answer was most definitely yes. He was embarrassingly out of breath and fought to control himself. 

“What, with no lube? I'm not a masochist.” Tailor scoffed, climbing back onto his lap and ghosting his hands down the other Rick's arms until he found his wrists. Stylist wondered what he was doing but did not protest when his arms were lifted and pinned up against the wall behind him. Tailor gathered both wrists in one hand and held them there, while his other hand slipped back down his body, then paused just above their cocks. 

“I'm sure I- I can find something in my makeup bag, may-maybe some vaseline or something-”

“No. I'm not fucking you here, in public, with some make-do lubricant. What do you take me for? I have a little more class than that, thank you.” Tailor retorted, narrowing his eyes. Stylist kept his mouth shut about the fact he'd just sucked his dick here, in public. There wasn't an awful lot of class in that act, either. A smirk tugged his lips, and the grip on his wrists tightened.

“Then what's the plan, couture?” He questioned, and Tailor wordlessly answered by wrapping his hand around his cock and pulling up slowly, once, twice, coating his hand in his own residual saliva before adding his own cock into his grip, squeezing their cocks together. The two of them groaned in unison, the hot, throbbing contact of each others erections was divine, even before Tailor started stroking.

But when he did… ohhh, Tailor rolled his head back, letting out a low, gravelly moan that exposed the column of his neck to his partner, and it was too inviting for Stylist to resist pushing his lips against it. With his arms held firmly to the wall it was difficult to lean forwards enough to reach, but Tailor let up just a little bit and allowed his neck to be covered with kisses and slow drags of tongue. 

There was a little lubricant in his strokes from saliva and precum, but after a few dryer tugs Tailor caved and let go momentarily to spit into his hand. Stylist noted how discreet he was, politely ducking his head and holding his hand close to his mouth. It was nothing like the vulgar display put on by other Ricks he'd been with; hawking a particularly juicy glob and loudly spitting into their hand from a distance, sometimes even onto his cock directly. This guy was something else. 

With spit loosening things up a little the sensation was entirely different, their cocks slipped deliciously together with each pump of Tailor's fist, a dirty squelching sound met their ears and somehow added to the experience. Stylist felt his breath pick up again, it annoyed him how loud even his breathing was, how fucked he sounded, when Tailor seemed just as put together as he always did, his breaths coming much smoother and longer than his. Stylist also couldn't stop his hips from fidgeting on the sofa, itching to fuck into something, it was as if he couldn't control or resist his instincts. How fucking embarrassing. 

With anyone else he did not care, but this Rick seemed different from the others he'd fucked around with; he somehow wanted to impress him, prove himself to him. Prove what? Who knew? Just something. His arms fidgeted in Tailor's grip, urging it to come loose. 

“Let me- I wanna touch you.” He breathed, nipping at the other man's jaw playfully. 

“I like having your hands where I can see them.” Was his answer, and he pouted, bucking his hips as hard as he could so that Tailor released an unbridled moan. By the look on his face, he hadn't meant to be so vocal. 

“Let me.” Stylist repeated. “I can make this better for you.” He added, licking his lips and glancing down at their cocks, he could see the head of his cock disappear and emerge with every stroke, and he realised due to their position with Tailor on top, he couldn't bring his hand over the head of his own cock without risking losing grip on both of them. Well, they couldn't have that, could they? He needed to do something for Tailor to even things out a little. 

“Hmm?” Tailor inquired, intrigued. 

“I wanna use my fingers on you, feel how tight your hole is so I know what to expect next time we catch up.” He rumbled, smirking. Tailor flinched a little at the words. 

“Next time?” He snorted, his hand slowing down as he looked at his companion with an amused expression. 

“You don't think you're getting away without being fucked by me at some point or another, do you?”

“Who says I'm even a bottom?” Tailor cocked a brow, releasing the stylist's arms and instead holding onto the back of the sofa with both hands, levelling his gaze to his. The Stylist laughed, actually, heartily laughed. 

“No one. I didn't need to be told.” He teased, lifting his hand to his mouth and sucking on his middle finger. Tailor watched him with interested eyes, and didn't try to stop him when that lubed up digit was disappearing behind him, seeking out his puckered entrance. His breath hitched as the tip of Stylist's finger stroked over his hole a number of times, and he found himself leaning forwards to give him better access. He shuddered just a little when he breached, going in to the first knuckle. 

“Shit.” He sighed under his breath, closing his eyes and burying his burning face in Stylist's shoulder. The finger kept pushing, burying itself deeper until it was fully seated, then it was thrusting back and forth, slowly at first. Tailor moaned, the sound rising in pitch as the speed increased. He hated the sounds he made when he was like this, they were fucking humiliating. 

“Mm. That's it. I knew it.” Stylist whispered, chuckling to himself. Tailor wanted to punch him, but it felt too good to be angry enough. Instead he focused his energy on sitting back up enough so that he could wrap his hand around their cocks again; adding more spit to his hand before doing so. He jerked them off together as Stylist continued to finger him, pushing deeper as he loosened up. Now that Tailor was showing signs of being affected by this whole thing, Stylist was beginning to get a little confidence under his belt and withdrew his finger long enough to coat more of them in saliva; then he slipped two fingers inside. 

“Oh god!” Tailor wailed, flinging his head back and bucking his hips between his own hand and the fingers inside him. Stylist groaned and chewed on his lip, stroking his inner walls with each thrust, aiming to make him sob. A jolt wracked Tailor's body as those fingers brushed his sweet spot, and his cock oozed precum, making his grip even slippier. He twisted his hand at the top of each stroke, rubbing the head of Stylist's cock wonderfully, it made his stomach twist in knots, he would cum for sure if he didn't do something. 

It wasn't as though Stylist had anything to worry about though, Tailor wasn't far from completion himself, if the way his hand slowed down was anything to go by, his grip slacking off a little to give them both a moment to gather themselves. Stylist wondered why he wasn't just letting them both cum, it was clear they both wanted to. 

“Do three.” Tailor requested, and it took Stylist a second to sift through the fog in his head to work out what he meant. When he did, he pushed a third finger inside him, stretching him out with gentle twists of his wrist. “Yesss.” Tailor hissed, his lips parting, little puffs of air leaving him. 

Unable to resist, Stylist pushed forward and kissed him, pressing his tongue through the gap in his lips to taste him. Tailor reciprocated instantly, tilting his head and leaning into him, whining softly, almost effeminately (which both surprised and aroused the stylist). His hand moved quicker, and Stylist matched his pace with his fingers. Tailor writhed in his lap, his hips rolling back and forth, impaling himself on those fingers while his cock slid against Stylist's within the confines of his closed fist. His grip felt so hot and tight and wet that Stylist felt himself spiralling, he was gonna cum, he was so close, just a little more-

“Oh fuck yes, I'm cu-” it was Tailor who finished first, cutting his words off with a gasp as he shot ropes of hot cum over both of them, all over Stylist's belly and cock. The sight and wet sensation of it was the tipping point for the other Rick, who followed suit with a strangled groan, adding to the sticky mess between them with his own load. His free hand automatically clamped down on Tailor's thigh, holding him tightly as if he was worried he was going to climb off and leave him before he'd finished enjoying his orgasm. He didn't move though, continuing to stroke them both together; even as his own cock became oversensitive, he continued to give Stylist all he needed. 

Tailor gave a final tight squeeze to their cocks, pulling up to milk the final drops of cum from them both, then he let them go and watched them bob together, subtly rubbing together and sending sparks into his gut. Stylist gently withdrew his fingers, letting both hands fall limp on the sofa. They were a mess; both of them, totally covered in cum. Instinctively, Tailor wanted to turn his nose up, but he resisted. Instead, he climbed off of him and walked over to where the stylist's belongings were. Earlier he'd spotted him using a towel around his model’s shoulders when styling her hair, perhaps to protect her clothes from the various products he'd used. He found the towel screwed up on the dressing table and used it – without asking – to clean himself up. He did a thorough enough job, deciding he'd take a shower as soon as he got home. 

When he returned to the stylist, he handed him the towel. A glimmer of annoyance appeared on Stylist's face as he recognised his towel, but he did not complain and he used it to clean himself up too before dropping it beside him with a sigh. He watched as Tailor immediately went for his clothes and began to get dressed; though he didn't feel the need to dress so quickly himself. Rather, he reached for his box of cigarettes to finally have that much needed smoke. He lit up a cigarette as Tailor fastened up his pants and slid on his shoes. 

“So, next time.” He simply stated. Stylist cocked a brow. “You have my dimension number.” He added, turning his back on him as he picked up his shirt and shrugged it on, buttoning it up. 

“Indeed I do.” Stylist said, wearing a shit eating grin that the other man couldn't see, but could hear. 

“I'm interested to see if you'll do a good job. I'm difficult to please, y-you have been warned.” Tailor explained, loosely tying his tie before slipping on his suit jacket. Stylist gave him a good look up and down from his place on the sofa, taking a long drag from his cigarette.

“You were pleased enough today though, huh?” He assumed in a cocky tone. Tailor didn't answer right away, he walked over to the mirror above the dresser across the room to straighten up and tighten his tie. 

“It was adequate.” He admitted, his tone light. Stylist scoffed. “Like I said, I am interested to see how you handle _real_ fun.” 

“Challenge accepted.” Stylist nodded. 

The two fell into silence, Tailor grooming himself in the mirror, Stylist puffing on his cigarette. It was a comfortable silence that both men were happy to stay in for as long as they needed to. Unfortunately though, that was not long. Stylist noticed the way Tailor's head whipped to the side, before he noticed the girl standing just a few feet away. The same girl who's hair and makeup he'd done for the charity auction.

Shit. _Where the fuck had she come from?_

He launched into action, hauling himself up from the sofa and scrambling for his clothes before darting behind one of the nearby screens. He was certain she'd seen his cock and bollocks despite his efforts to hide it. He mentally punched himself in the face for not getting dressed immediately like Tailor had… 

He was bound to get a kick out of this.

It was just the cherry on the cake that in his haste he'd happened to burn a hole in his pink jacket with his cigarette. Well, it looked like he was going to take the asshole's fashion advice after all.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Read Between The Lines](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16927305) by [PorkChop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PorkChop/pseuds/PorkChop)




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